LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 






Shelf. 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



LYRICS OF THE HUDSON 



POEMS 



HORATIO NELSON POWERS 

AUTHOR OF "ten YEARS OF SONG," "THROUGH THE YEAR,' 

"poems early and late" 



WITH MEMORIAL INTRODUCTION BY 

OSCAR FAY ADAMS 




BOSTON 
D. LOTHROP COMPANY 

WASHINGTON STREET OPPOSITE BROMFIELD 



\ \ ^. ^x\ 






Copyright, 1891, 

BY 

D, L0THR0.P Company. 



PREFACE. 



It is with a feeling closely akin to pain that one 
takes up the work of an author very lately gotte from 
among men. It is like entering the room of a friend 
when the friend has just quitted it forever. There are 
his books in the same order as when he left them : the 
waste basket still holds its litter of pamphlets and torn 
papers ; the desk is strewn with letters aftd manu- 
scripts ; the pen yet lies where it fell from the tired 
frtgers of its owner across the half completed page. So 
with the book that comes to us soon after the death of 
its author^ the book that he had planned and never 
saw. Perhaps the proof-sheets came to him day after 
day as he felt life slipping away from him, wondering 
perchance^ as his hold on material things relaxed^ if 
he should ever see the closing pages. Or possibly the 
summons came suddenly^ and he in obedience to it 

^^ At its topmost speed let fall the pen 
And left the tale half-told:' 

The larger number of the poems which compose the 
present volume were writtefi by the author in the last 



6 PREFACE. 

four years of his Hfe, and his intention^ confided to a 
few friends^ was to have published them privately as 
a surprise prepared for the wife whose love had been 
the inspiratio7i of his pen for so many years. But his 
was fiot to be the hand which was to offer her this 
tokeft of affection^ for before any active steps had been 
taken regarding publication he had done with time. 
It has bee7i thought best by those nearest to him that 
the poems which represent^ in verse at least, his latest 
thought, should 7iot be withheld from circulation, but 
given to the world hi permanent form, accompanied 
with some few words concerning him. These few 
words it has fallen to me, as one of those who loved 
him and whom he loved, to supply. 

Horatio Nelson Powers was born of old Dutch 
ancestry, in Amenia, Dutchess County, N. Y., on the 
thirtieth of April, 1826. His education was obtained 
at the Amenia Seminary and at U?iion College, from 
which he was graduated in 1850. After graduation 
he spent two years in teaching and subsequently enter- 
ing the Gejieral Theological Seminary of the Episcopal 
Church, was graduated from that ifistitution in 1855. 
He was ordaiiied by Bishop Horatio Potter in that 
year, and for the 7iext two years served as assist- 
ant minister in St. fa7nes'' Church, at La7icaster, Penn. 



PREFACE. 7 

While living at Lancaster he was married to Clkmence 
Emma, daughter of the late Professor Francis Favel- 
Gouraud of the University of Paris. F?'om Lancaster 
he removed to Davenport, Lowa, 7vhere he remained in 
charge of a parish for eleven years, serving for a por- 
tion of that time as President of Griswold College. 
While at Davenport he received from Union College 
the degree of D. D. Ln i868 he accepted a call to the 
rectorship of St. fohfi^s Church in Chicago, and in 
1875 removed from Chicago to Bridgeport, Conn,, 
where he became rector of Christ Church, Ln this 
position he cofitinued for ten years, leaving Bridgeport 
in 1885. A year later he was asked to take charge of 
a church at Sparkill, N. V., which he cofisented to do, 
maki?ig his home in the adjoining village of Piermont- 
on-the-LLudson, a choice determined mainly by the beauty 
of the surrounding country. Except for six months 
spent in Europe in 1890 he was never afterward 
absent from Piermont longer than for a few days at a 
time. Always a sincere lover of nature he found in 
this quiet spot on the hillside overlooki7ig the broad 
Tappan Zee the realization of matiy of his dreams. 
From his rectory windows the prospect was one in 
which his soul could daily take the most intense delight 
and satisfaction. 



8 PREFACE. 

" How little I anticipated such a retreat as this I 
have been graciously led to without any plan of my 
own,''^ he o?ice said to me. Deeper and deeper the peace 
and joy of this new home sank into his heart till he 
could write to me iit early fune of 1887 : ^^ I never 
was so happy in all my life before. So many birds 
singing and singiftg; such a wealth of blossoms and 
tender skies, such a magnificence of landscape instinct 
with the divine breath, such peace of heart, such a 
sweet atmosphere of love in my little church — it seemed 
that I was etijoying a perpetual benedictioii I I have 
never know7i such blessed restfulness and tranquillity 
as in this retreat along the hills of Piermont. I have 
kiiown sorrow year after year, I have had contifiual 
solicitude and troubles, but they have not killed my faith, 
hope and charity. Now I am reaping the invisible 
harvest of the heart — am actually ^living before 1 
die: " 

// was hef'e at Piermont o?t the morning of Septe 
ber 6, 1890, that his life ended 07i the banks of i^e 
same river where it began, sixty four years earlier. 

In 1875 ^ volufne of his religious essays entitle 

Through the Year, was published, and in 1876 his 

first volume of verse. Poems, Early and Late, appeared. 

A seco7id was published i7i 1887 with the title Ten 




PREFACE. 9 

Years of Song. Dr. Powers wrote much for the 
press, his poems and essays appearing in nearly all the 
profninent periodicals of the country. He was deeply 
interested in art as well as literature^ and was for 
some years the American correspondent of L^Art. To 
him Philip Gilbert Hamerto7i dedicated his book, The 

Unknown River, and for many years the two men 
were in constant correspondence, although they never 
met. He was peculiarly happy in his friendships, 
and beside the intimate acquaifitance with Bryant and 
Bayard Taylor which he possessed he knew well many 
other literary men of his time. He gave his whole self 
in his friendships, keeping nothing back from the value 
of the gift, and so the welfare of those whom he loved 
was very much to him. " There is no good I do not 
wish you,^^ he writes to me at one time. It was my 
happy privilege to stand closer to him than some others 
whom he knew, but his interest in each of his friends 
was always generous, abundant and sincere. In a 
very real sense he bore their burde?is with his own 
and rejoiced wheji they made merry. 

Of his poetry it is not needful to speak critically 
here. A quiet meditative optimism is its dominant fiote, 
the optimism of a nature that with its first ejithusiasms 
tempered by many phases of subsequent experie?ice still 



10 PREFACE. 

remains sure that past all doubting ^'^ good is yet the 
final goal." To read it is to enter into spiritual com- 
munion with one whose thoughts are as " the benedic- 
tion that follows after prayer." But to have known 
the writer in his bodily presence is to have felt that 
same benediction strike deep down among all the fibers 
of one's mortal being. 

Death hath no power o'er such as he : 

The fullness of the life to be 

Shone round him in the life he spent 

Within the bodfs prison pent. 

Texts might we gather from his looks, 

Such as men read in holy books. 

And through his words could hear at will 

The Master's gracious accents still. 

Oscar Fay Adams. 

Felton Hall, 
Cambridge, Mass. 
Lent, 1891. 



CONTENTS. 



THE HILLS OF PIERMONT . . . . II 

NYACK 14 

A ROCKLAND SUNSET . . . . . 1 6 

MY WALK TO CHURCH I9 

ROCKLAND 22 

SPRING WEATHER . . , . . . 25 

A MAY CAROL 27 

UNDER THE SNOW 39 

A RURAL CHURCH 33 

DISQUIETED 35 

A PRESENCE 37 

ON OCCUPYING A NEW HOUSE . . . 40 

HYMN 42 

THE NAMELESS COURIER OF CONEMAUGH . 43 

A DEATHLESS VOICE 46 

THE WONDERFUL 



WHITSUN-DAY 



49 
52 



CONTENTS. 



ANNIE 

MATTHEW ARNOLD 
ENCOURAGEMENT . 
EASTER EVEN 

EASTER 

THE phonograph's SALUTATION 

LILIES 

SOWING IN THE SEA 

THE TRANSFIGURATION . 

WHITSUN-DAY. 

WINTERGREEN 

UNDERTONES .... 

JUNE 

LIGHT AT EVENTIDE 
BEHIND THE VEIL . 



55 
58 
63 
65 
67 

69 
71 

75 

77 
81 

84 

87 
89 
92 

95 



LYRICS OF THE HUDSON. 



LYRICS OF THE HUDSON 



THE HILLS OF PIERMONT. 

A SONG. 

O HAPPY hills of Piermont, 

How fair ye stand to-day, 
The May sun on your slopes of green, 

Your woods with blossoms gay ! 
How tenderly the thrushes sing, 

How soft the breezes blow ! 
Blue, blue the sky — the apple-trees 

With fragrance overflow. 

O blooming hills of Piermont, 
How sweetly ye look down 

On the far-flashing Hudson 
And many a little town ! 



12 THE HILLS OF PIERMONT. 

How fondly on your loveliness 
Gaze those who sadly roam, 

And long, in your bewitching charm 
For such a sheltered home ! 

O lovely hills of Piermont, 

How blessed your repose ! 
How in the hearts that love ye 

Your own contentment grows ! 
Your bosky steeps and garden walks 

With soulful dreams are dear, 
And a benignant spirit broods 

In all your atmosphere. 

O happy hearths of Piermont, 

How restfully ye stand. 
Safe in the shadow of a rock 

Above a peaceful land ! 
Where, to the raptured vision, spreads 

Another realm so fair? 
And where, amid her templed hills, 

Is Nature more at prayer ? 



THE HILLS OF PIERMONT. 1 3 

O noble hills of Piermont, 

How rich your charms to-day ! 
Ne'er dawned upon your gracious slopes 

A more enchanting May. 
Your fountains gush, your robins sing, 

Your scented breezes play ; 
The great world thunders on — but, ah ! 

How far it seems away ! 



NYACK. 

Here the great river sweeps 

Royal, broad-breasted; 
Here the dark headland keeps 

Watch unmolested ; 
Here bask, in tangles green, 

Slopes flower-sprinkled ; 
Gapes here the weird ravine 

Rock-split and wrinkled. 

Grander the forests grow, 

Coaxing your ramble ; 
Lovely the scene below 

Where the waves gambol ; 
Where the far landscape's line 

Fades soft and tender. 
And the fair villas shine 

In the sun's splendor. 
14 



NYACK. 15 

Snug 'neath the mountain's shield 

Nestles the village, 
Bright as a jeweled field 

Tempting to pillage. 
Homes that through joyous days 

Love's arm incloses ; 
Bloom-broidered lawns, and ways 

Lighted with roses. 

Fadeless the picture rare — 

Ah, my lips falter ! — 
Hung in the sacred air 

O'er the heart's altar. 
How it calms, how it tells 

Its soul-haunting story. 
Like the chiming of bells 

In eventide's glory ! 



A ROCKLAND SUNSET. 

The summer storm has passed, and, all at 

once. 
The sinking sun breaks through the leaden 

gloom. 
And floods the vast expanse of mount and vale 
With an exceeding glory. Here I stand, 
On the abutment of the Palisades — 
That mighty wall along the Hudson's marge — 
Its utmost northern precipice sublime — 
And scan the splendid prospect, as the change 
Grows rich in heaven and earth of gleaming 

sky, 
And shining mountain top, and fields ablaze 
With yellow flame, and Tappan Zee asleep 
In warm eflfulgence. Here, elate, I watch 
The miracle of beauty as, behind 
The hills of Ramapo that girt the west 
i6 



A ROCKLAND SUNSET. 17 

With royal purple, the great sun goes down, 
And rifts of cloud, here banked in giant shapes. 
And there in flocks soft, tremulous, inspired. 
Gather, and break, and melt in tender fires, 
That make the pageant of the skies divine. 

It is a host of billows rosy fringed. 

Tumbling upon a paradise of flowers. 

It is a cataract of flame, now fixed 

Amid ethereal precipices. 

Then dashing crimson tides on saflron shores 

And mingling with an opalescent sea. 

It is a pomp of banners waved on walls 

Of porphyry and amber, floating wide 

O'er gardens where the angels weave their 

crowns. 
Ah ! how the glory changes ; — mighty folds 
Of luminous tapestry flung afar. 
Shot through with feathery splendor, broidered 

wide 
With dark carnations — belts of golden green 
Between the pink horizon and the wastes 



i8 A ROCKLAND SUNSET. 

Of intense radiance of the higher heavens — 
Mountains of bloom that heave, and split, and 

glow 
Showering the petals of celestial flowers 
On meadows soft with verdure, on old woods, 
The Hudson's tranquil breast, and Hook's still 

dome. 
Set like a jewel on earth's happy brow. 
The pageant fades and, steep by steep, dis- 
solve 
The airy cliffs, furrows of rose and gold 
That ploughed the dazzling fields of upper air, 
Pinnacle and buttress of the gorgeous shapes 
That hung in heaven and caught its mystery, 
And dim grow all the vales, and on the hills 
Of the enchanted river dies the day, 
And solemn twilight sheds on all repose. 



MY WALK TO CHURCH. 

Breathing the summer-scented air 
Along the bowery mountain way, 

Each Lord's-day morning I repair 
To serve my church, a mile away. 

Below, the glorious river lies — 

A bright broad-breasted, sylvan sea — 

And round the sumptuous highlands rise, 
Fair as the hills of Galilee. 

Young flowers are in my path. I hear 

Music of unrecorded tone. 
The heart of Beauty beats so near. 

Its pulses modulate my own. 

The shadow on the meadow's breast 
Is not more calm than my repose 
19 



20 MY WALK TO CHURCH. 

As, step by step, I am the guest 
Of every living thing that grows. 

Ah, something melts along the sky. 
And something rises from the ground, 

And fills the inner ear and eye 

Beyond the sense of sight and sound. 

It is not that I strive to see 

What Love in lovely shapes has wrought 
Its gracious messages to me 

Come, like the gentle dews, unsought. 

I merely walk with open heart 

Which feels the secret in the sign ; 

But, O, how large and rich my part 
In all that makes the feast divine ! 

Sometimes I hear the happy birds 
That sang to Christ beyond the sea, 

And softly His consoling words 
Blend with their joyous minstrelsy. 



MY WALK TO CHURCH. 21 

Sometimes in royal vesture glow 
The lilies that He called so fair, 

Which never toil nor spin, yet show 
The loving Father's tender care. 

And then along the fragrant hills 
A radiant presence seems to move. 

And earth grows fairer as it fills 
The very air I breathe with love. 

And now I see one perfect face, 

And hastening to my church's door, 

Find Him within the holy place 
Who, all my way, went on before. 



ROCKLAND. 

A REALM of beauty ! Softly sloping hills 
And noble heights embowered in luscious 
green, 
Wide, flower-sown meadows etched with silver 
rills. 
And grand old groves with dusky glens 
between ; 
Thickets where sing the thrushes all the day 
By springs that gush 'neath tangled fern 
and vine. 
Sweet pastures, orchards, vineyards, gardens 
gay — 
All in one lovely picture here combine. 

The Hudson, like a royal sea, rolls by, 
Along a Paradise that ages made. 

Where in delicious nooks fair homesteads lie, 
And stands on guard the giant Palisade ! 



ROCKLAND. 23 

Set like a ^em divinely smiles the lake 

In calms of moonshine, and at evening's 
glow, 
And what a witchery its features take 

When myriad lilies fringe its breast with 
snow. 

And when the autumn comes in splendid 
might, 
Like him of Bozrah, what a glory runs 
O'er wood and copse and mead and leafy 
height. 
Rich as the blazonry of setting suns. 
And, in the wintry days, what wreaths are flung 
Of silvery plumage o'er the landscape bare. 
What diamond garlands through the groves 
are strung. 
That drive the cunning craftsman to despair ! 



Magnificent in aspect, thou art strong ! 
Thy softest charms on living rock repose. 



24 ROCKLAND. 

And he who scorns does mystic Nature wrong, 
Nor yet the secret power of beauty knows. 

Fling out thy royal splendors, rock-ribbed 
land! 
The flower of granite is the flower most fair. 

On solid truth benignant lives expand. 
And glorious is the loveliness they wear. 



SPRING WEATHER. 

Hear the bird in the wood, 

Where, from sheaths gently torn. 

Silken leaflets are born, 

On this exquisite morn. 
In the spring weather ; 
Is it not very good — 

This song of the bird 
And May-morn together? 

This welcoming bird 
And the soft spring weather? 

See the white gauze of shad-blows 
In the grove's sunny places. 
Like faint silvery laces 
O'er vanishing faces, 

In the spring weather ; 

How the witchery grows, 
25 



26 SPRING WEATHER. 

With the blossoms song-kissed 
Bird and bloom flung together — 

The music and bloom-mist, 
And amber-stained weather. 

Feel the spirit that steals 
Dainty sweets everywhere, 
Of the earth and the air, 
As your prodigal share 

Of the spring weather ; 

How it hallows and heals ! 
Bathes heart in its rapture — 

Bird, bloom, love together — 
O the sweet, silent rapture 

Of the soul of spring weather ! 



A MAY CAROL. 

What now is Love doing ? 
Ah, watch, as the buds burst, as the grasses 

are feeling 
The mist and the sunshine, and green things 

are stealing 
Fond glances at skies that are sweetly reveal- 
ing 
A tremulous tenderness holy and healing ; 
Feel the witchery haunting the luminous 

places 
In meadow and glen, where faint, flowery 

faces. 
With the delicate charm of their infantile 

graces, 
Are so coy in their greetings, and the brook 

races — 

27 



28 A MAY CAROL. 

A ripple of rapture — o'er mosses and patches 
Of silver that brighten, and all the air catches 
The luster and calm of a Spirit that's wooing 
Life out of life, and earth's glory renewing — 
A beauty more dear in one's passionate view- 
ing— 

And this Love is doing ! 

What now is Love saying? 
Just put your ear close to the herbage that's 

springing. 
To the vine that is happy in climbing and 

clinging ; 
List, as the birds are caressing and singing 
Mid the odors and tints that the season is 

bringing ; 
Lie at noon in the woods, or as sunlight is 

waning — 
The murmurs you hear are of praise, not 

complaining. 
Even silence is voiceful. The soul that is 

reigning 



A MAY CAROL. 29 

Is beauty enrobing. The breathings that kiss 

you 
Are the life in the soil, and the sap, and the 

tissue 
From a corpuscle's stir to the chorus of ocean, 
The tones that entrance are the music of 

motion. 
On the harp of the Infinite, Goodness is 

playing : 
" If you love me, dear heart, go a-Maying, 

a-Maying " — 

And this Love is saying ! 



UNDER THE SNOW. 

Musing, across the still, white fields 
And frozen forest wastes, I go. 

And hear, as in a dream, the tones 
Of life and love beneath the snow. 

Something is telling me of days 

Sweet with fresh scents and mating birds, 
When earth's impassioned heart shall speak 

A tenderer eloquence than words. 

E'en now the glee of seeds that break 
Their vernal sepulcher, I hear ; 

And laugh of bursting buds and whirr 
Of radiant wings are in my ear. 

I hear innumerable leaves, 
^olian idyls far away, 
30 



UNDER THE SNOW. 31 

And faint, low ditties in the dells, 
And what the myriad grasses say. 

Ah, sweet as love the cowslip's breath ! 

But sweeter on my spirit falls 
The poem the arbutus sends. 

As breathed upon her mountain walls. 

I hear it, and the lily's lips 

Warm with the South's caressing air. 
The chorus deepens — spring's dear sounds 

Are floating round me everywhere, 

The far-off talk of odorous trees. 
The lisping of the meadow stream. 

The coo of doves, the sprouting grain. 
And dreams the apple-blossoms dream ; 

And children culling in their play 

The flowers they waste and know not why, 
Prattling and chirping, as they feel 

A joy for which their elders sigh ; 



32 UNDER THE SNOW. 

And strains that from the earth arise, 
As o'er the misty landscape flows 

The golden sunshine, and in heaven 
The rainbow's splendid symbol glows. 

Entranced I muse, till, in my May, 
I walk again with one most dear. 

And life's cold snows and icy paths 
In youth's high visions, disappear. 



A RURAL CHURCH. 

Nesting mid vines and leafage, where the 
lawn 
Slopes toward a softly-lingering valley 
stream, 
The little church hides, like a soul withdrawn 
From the world's noise to worship and to 
dream. 

Simple the cool gray pile, embowered in green, 
With every charm that modesty can yield. 

As one of winning face and artless mien 
Is lovelier still with features half-concealed. 

Near by are sumptuous hills, and lordly trees 
Their summits crown and fringe the pools 
below, 
Where, under their majestic canopies. 
Daisies and golden-hearted lilies blow. 
33 



34 A RURAL CHURCH. 

It is the Sabbath, and the summer morn 
Is sweet with flowers, and birds, and new- 
mown hay, — 

As if a spirit breathed, and life new born 
Blossomed in all that glorifies the day. 

Within, the church is redolent with blooms 
Fresh from the fields whose orisons they 
bear : 
God's peace is on them, and their smile 
relumes 
The hopes of hearts aweary with their care. 

O sacred hour ! the vain world far away ! 

Doth He not hear who marks the sparrow's 
fall? 
How good it seems in this dear place to stay, 

Musing on Love that filleth all in all ! 

Sometimes, in concert with the sacred song, 
A thrush's trill floats in upon the air ; 

Sometimes, a breeze wafts, with its sweets, 
along 
The purer fragrance of the breath of prayer. 



DISQUIETED. 

The winds are hushed, the river sleeps, 
The moon shines soft and bright, 

And still a shudder through you creeps 
At something out of sight. 

What is it through the scented gloom 
Breathes such a strange unrest, 

And mid voluptuous summer bloom 
Haunts your unquiet breast ? 

You feel it when the sweetest things 

Your finest senses greet. 
When with full hands Love freely flings 

Her lilies at your feet. 

Beyond the veil you strain to see, 
Though all earth's charms beguile, 

35 



36 DISQUIETED. 

And wonder what your lot will be 
After a little while, — 

After your gains, and joys, and tears, 
After your tasks are done. 

And all your swiftly flying years 
End with your goal unwon I 



A PRESENCE. 

Something stirs in the grass, 
Something dimples the stream, 

And I feel its breath pass, 
Like a kiss in a dream. 

It is here in the vine. 

It is there on the sea. 
And it flings out its sign 

Where clouds frolic and flee. 

It trembles in sunlight. 
It pictures the ground, 

'Tis the magic of sight, 
'Tis the palace of sound. 

It bides where the bird flies, — 
In its nest and its note, 

37 



38 A PRESENCE. 

Where sweet echo replies, 
And the fireflies float. 

Round the dewdrop it folds, 
And the jewels of frost ; 

Not an atom it holds 
From its bosom is lost. 

In the cleft of the rock, 

On the pansy's warm breast, 

In the tempest's fierce shock, 
On the wild billow's crest. 

In flame and in thunder. 
In birth and in death. 

In laughter and wonder. 
Flows the tide of its breath. 

Ah, the scenes it incloses ! 

It is moistened with tears ; 
It colors the roses 

Of bridals and biers. 



A PRESENCE. 39 



It hears all that's spoken. 
It holds all that's fair, 

In vain bread is broken. 
Lest its Presence is there. 



ON OCCUPYING A NEW HOUSE. 

We fear and we rejoice. 

In awe, we pause before 
The portal, for a Voice 

Austere is at the door. 

" The sad past leave behind — 
The world's mad strife and din ; 

A grateful, quiet mind, 
And sunny faiths bring in. 

" Keep sweet this atmosphere 

For Love's unruffled tone ; 
Give pallid Want good cheer, 

And Modesty a throne. 

" Grief shall be thine and pain — 
From these no house is free ; 
40 



ON OCCUPYING A NEW HOUSE. 41 

But let naught churlish stain 
The robes of Charity. 

*' Life here shall poems breathe 

That hallow every room, 
And on the threshold leave 

A heavenly perfume, 

*' Or noxious vapors spread 
On hearth and hall and stair, 

Till later dwellers dread 
The feeling in the air ! 

<* As thou art, it shall be 

To wife and child and guest ; 

An inn of low degree, 

Or Love's ambrosial nest." 



HYMN. 

O Lord, our souls revive : 
They languish low and faint. 

In vain we seek to shrive 
Their guiltiness and taint. 

We look to Thee and pray ; 

To Thee we humbly cling ; 
May we abide alway 

Beneath thy shelt'ring wing. 

Keep us, O Lord, from sin ; 

Hold us by Thy right hand ; 
Impart Th}^ strength within. 

And we shall surely stand. 

We wait for Thine own breath 
Upon our hearts to blow. 

O conqueror of death ! 
Thy life to us bestow. 
42 



THE NAMELESS COURIER OF 
CONEMAUGH. 

On noble charger strong and fleet, 

A rider speeds through Johnstown's street, 

Whose voice the very welkin thrills — 

** For life, dear life, fly to the hills ! 

Haste, haste ! death smites, if you delay, 

Fly to the hills — away, away ! " 

He dashes on — his foaming steed 

Is like the wind. O will they heed ? 

Wilder his cry, his goal unwon. 

And still he shouts and thunders on — 

'« The hills ; the hills ! " the people stare : 

Is this a maniac riding there? 

O God in heaven ! With sudden break 
Plunges the mighty mountain lake — 
Its barrier burst — with headlong fall, 

43 



44 THE NAMELESS COURIER. 

Through rended gorge and ragged wall, 
Down, down, to happy vales below — 
O utter, helpless, hopeless woe ! 

A roar ! as if earth's heart strings broke 
By some Cyclopean thunder-stroke, 
A quaking of the rock-ribbed hills 
That all the air with anguish fills. 
It comes ! it comes — the falling sea, 
Mad with its own immensity. 
Terrific with its load of doom — 
A city's death ! a city's tomb ! 

Down, down it leaps and roars and raves ; 
A monster fed with groans and graves ! 
Insatiate throat, fast gulping down 
The quiet farm, the little town, 
The fair, the brave, the good, the wise — 
O horrid, guilty sacrifice ! 

«' The hills, the hills," —but faint his tone 
Who rides so desperately alone ; 



THE NAMELESS COURIER. 45 

Too late ! The avalanche's blow 
Crushes the city crouched below — 
A maelstrom now, where corpses sail 
Tossing torn limbs and faces pale, 
And then a fiery jail — a sea 
Of ghastly, crisp humanity. 

Oh, fell he nobly in the race 

To warn the careless burgh apace. 

Struck by the high and hissing wave — 

His dying breath a cry to save. 

O hero, in a cause more true 

Than ever old Crusader knew ; 

Nameless, thy deed's tremendous power. 
Faithful in danger's fatal hour. 
Shall awe and fire with holy rage 
The hearts of men from age to age. 
And tell, bright laureled names beside. 
Of one who for the people died. 



A DEATHLESS VOICE. 

Above the sobbing of a stricken nation 
O'er her great chieftain murdered in his 
prime ; 

Above melodious bursts of lamentation 

That make earth's sorrow awful and sublime, 

I hear a voice from deeps serene, supernal, 
Stifling the heart-break of a world in tears : 

He speaks whose fame is spotless and eternal : 
O, hear and heed, ye who to hear have ears ! 

** Mourn not for me with aimless, nerveless 
sorrow ; 
I only was the vessel used to hold 
The treasure lavished for a better morrow 
Whose dawn already tints the hills with gold. 
46 



A DEATHLESS VOICE. 47 

" All that I was in deed and aspiration, 
In steadfast purpose and supreme desire, 

I left upon the altar of the Nation — 
By Love bestowed and fuel for its fire. 

'* Look past the instrument that now is broken. 
To Him who touched its quick, responsive 
strings ; 
Hear Him who through the fruitful years has 
spoken 
The quick'ning truth that makes men priests 
and kings. 

*' With chastened hearts accept the revelation 
That righteous service is the noblest good. 

Ye build in vain, save on the firm foundation 
Of Honor's rock and Duty's hardihood. 

" All glory is a phantom thin and fleeting 
That is not of the spirit pure and strong, 

O brethren ! speed the grand angelic greeting, 
' Good will to men,' and dies each hateful 
wrong. 



48 A DEATHLESS VOICE. 

'^Rise on the faith that makes the people 
dearer, 
Clasp hands in deeds that trampled right 
befriend, 
Welcome the touch that brings the nations 
nearer. 
And Freedom's mighty empire shall not 
end." 



THE WONDERFUL. 

If thou art seeking loveliness more sweet 

Than e'er to craving hearts of old was given, 
Faint with thy quest, though once thy steps 
were fleet, 
Come see the face that is most loved in 
heaven. 

'Tis not a burning spirit of the Lord, 

Leading the tuneful host with seraph lyre. 

Nor mighty cherub, whose high deeds accord 
With flaming measures of the starry choir. 

'Tis not a beauteous soul that, near the throne. 
In rapture of uncounted years has dwelt. 

Until the beauty brooded on has grown 
Into the life its joy so long has felt. 

49 



50 THE WONDERFUL. 

Come, but with heart whose simple lowlihood 
Asks only that its vision may be clear ; 

Come with the meekness that receives the good 
For its own sake, however it appear. 

It is a babe new-born, turn not away ; 

Ah, thou art smitten by the Wonder shown! 
Here is the sun that ushers earth's great day, 

Here is the monarch of an endless throne. 

Gaze on entranced — all thou hast sought is 
here — 
Thy dream of perfect life — its seal and 
sign — 
All that can ravish soul, make being dear; 
Come, take the gift — all thou canst take, is 
thine. 

Only a babe ! yet here is regnant power. 
The charm that wins the nations yet to be, 

The crown and joy of man's consummate 
flower. 
The freedom in which one is truly free. 



THE WONDERFUL. 5 1 

Only a babe ! but see how hearths grow bright, 

And Wrong is smitten in his baleful lair, 
And fade the horrid shapes that haunt the 
night, 
And Truth leaps forth, and dies the fiend 
Despair. 

Serene, in that poor, barren manger-bed. 
The wondrous Child in nature's weakness 
lies ; 

But from that fount the light of life is shed, 
A new world joins the chorus of the skies. 

The heaven of heaven to lowest earth de- 
scends. 
Beats now the heart of God in human veins, 
The age of wrath and hateful error ends. 
The Prince of Peace o'er love's broad em- 
pire reigns. 



WHITSUN-DAY. 

O Light of Light eternal ! 

Sole Sun of every sphere ! 
O gifts of life supernal ! 

The very God is here ! 

His heart is overflowing : 
Signs blaze in every land : 

The heights and depths are showing 
His unexhausted hand. 

Dear soul of eager yearning, 
Salute the tongues of fire ! 

The chaff of earth is burning, 
Foul shapes of wrong expire. 

How bloom the desert places ! 
Down crash strongholds of sin ! 



WHITSUN-DAY. 53 

Peace on transfigured faces 
Reveals the Christ within. 

From weakness, woe and weeping, 
The white-robed victors come ; 

The halt and maimed are leaping ; 
And shout the blind and dumb. 

sea of love unbounded 1 

O heaven of sinless breath ! 
Ne'er shall that sea be sounded, 
That heaven o'ercast with death. 

1 bask in light whose splendor 

The farthest star-mists own ; 
I feel arms strong and tender 

That round the worlds are thrown. 

I enter where the roses 

Of sweetest crowns are flung, 

I rest where One discloses 
A glory yet unsung. 



54 WHITSUN-DAY. 

Deep after deep, forever, 
The gates of life unfold ! 

Sing, happy heart ! For never 
Shall life and love grow old. 



ANNIE. 
1875-76. 

The sudden sorrow smote us so, 
With numbing pain, confusing all, 

At first we did not fully know 
How great a woe did us befall. 

But as the winter days went by. 

And her dear voice was heard no more, 

Nor seen her face, so bright and shy. 
By window or the open door. 

Our 'wildered sense to anguish grew : 
Each morning brought a wearier cross 

From all about some spirit flew 
To tell the pathos of our loss. 

We longed for her confiding touch, 
The sweet surprises of her speech, 
SS 



56 ANNIE. 

Her wondering look, that meant so much 
In eyes that love's confessions teach. 

We yearned her fair, round cheek to feel, 
To sit and smooth each soft brown tress, 

To have her arms about us steal 
In speechless, infantile caress. 

Again the bright May blossoms spring : — 
It hurts to see them grow so fair ; 

The birds returning soar and sing, 
Yet dirges seem to pain the air. 

The odor of the apple bloom 

Faints for her sweet and vanished breath ; 
The very sunlight in the room 

Reveals the vacancy of death. 

We do not wish the beauty less 
In aught the gentle season brings, 

Though tears start at the loveliness 
In buds and songs and glancing wings. 



ANNIE. 57 

But O, how different earth would be, 
And home and life and all things dear 

To heart and hope, if only she, 
Just as she used to be, were here ! 



MATTHEW ARNOLD. 

Dazed with the sudden shock I stood, 
As if stealthily struck in the dark, 
Conscious only of strangeness and pain - 
A gnawing and desperate pain. 
As I groped in the awful void. 
Arnold dead ! O soul-searching woe ! 
The elect of the Muses fled ! 
Great Voice of the century dumb ! 
Arnold dead ! Lordly pattern of man, 
Oracle, charmer of souls, 
Compeller of strenuous life, 
Revealer of secrets untold. 
Consoler, interpreter, friend ! 

How flock to my vision the shapes 
That refresh, enamour, inspire 
The children of spirit and light. 
Embosomed in blossoms of song. 

58 



MATTHEW ARNOLD. 59 

Fields of royal tillage I see, 

And battles and spoils of the mind ; 

Himself disembodied I see, 

His courage, his clearness, his truth, 

His genius serene, unappalled. 

His sweetness diffused in the lives 

Ennobled, enriched by his own. 

How splendid the path of his feet. 

His prophecies, music, and power. 

The depths and the heights that he trod ! 

Silent, grieving, alone, 

I droop in my study's gloom : 

But throngs of the deathless are here — 

The immortals untrammeled, unstained, 

Who smile at the greed of the grave. 

All is life, pure life, that I see. 

Exulting, achieving, mntired, 

Eternal and moving in God — 

Yet the mortal presence has fled ! 

In the instinct of love I arise 

And fondle the volumes he penned, 



6o MATTHEW ARNOLD. 

As if I were smoothing the brow 

Of the cold, white face of the dead. 

The leaves of one fall apart, 

Which I kiss in the yearning of pain. 

O wonder ! O tender decree ! 

As if pointed out by his hand, 

*' Resignation " looks up from the page ! 

Resignation writ for my soul. 

And I read and try to be calm. 
And opening at random its mate, 
Unthinking of aught I may see, 
Strange again, '* A Wish " first appears, 
Breathing calmness, humility, peace. 
Thou art speaking in pity to me — 
Sweetly thoughtful and tender in death ! 
But tears are blinding me now, 
Yes, *' Worse plagues are on earth than 

tears." 
And others are weeping, I know. 
In gratitude, sorrow, and awe — 
The meek, the unselfish, the mild, 



MATTHEW ARNOLD. 6 1 

Who love not the things of the world, 
Who strive for the flawless ideal, 
Who mirror the Christ among men. 
Hot tears are in eyes that still strain 
For the vision of good that endures, 
That long for the glorified day. 
O the fathomless grief o'er the sea ! 
Dear home ! wife and children and friends 
Who loved the great heart that is still. 

Who shall chaunt the high theme of his 

life? 
Who is left of our age that can fill 
The trumpet that honors his muse ? 
Long ago burning Shelley was mute, 
And Byron, the Titan of song ; 
Young, honey-lipped Keats sits above ; 
Only Nature breathes Wordsworth's 

refrain. 
'Neath his chaplets the Laureate nods 
In the affluent ease of his fame. 
Will Browning of genius austere 



62 MATTHEW ARNOLD. 

Meetly measure the bard we deplore — 
Tell the sweep and the stress of his voice 
That thrilled through our cold-hearted 
years ? 

But he stepped into clearer light — 
A single step — and he knew 
The secrets that baffle us here. 
O blessed and beautiful death ! 
Out, 'neath the open sky, 
The spring grass under his feet, 
The air like the kiss of a soul. 
Saluted by sunshine and birds. 
Keeping step with the angel of love. 
Joyous, clear-visioned, composed — 
Death to him was a rapture of life : 
May it so come, in kindness, to me. 



ENCOURAGEMENT. 

Tell me, O gentle friend, again, 
That He who all our sorrows bore. 

Softens thy weary couch of pain 

With peace that deepens more and more. 

Tell me, confiding heart secure, 

Like John, upon the Saviour's breast, 

That it is love that keeps thee pure. 
And gives thee, mid the tempest, rest. 

Tell me, O erring one restored, 

That something strangely gracious drew 
Thee out of darkness to the Lord, 

And, henceforth, everything was new. 

Tell me, O sore bereaved, whose face 
Is bright mid tears that have to flow, 

63 



64 ENCOURAGEMENT. 

That One abides whose tender grace 
Consoles and consecrates thy woe. 

Tell me, O ye who still maintain, 

Though bruised and scarred, your fight with 
wrong, 
That, dying unto self, ye gain 

The power that makes you brave and strong. 

Thanks for each faithful witness borne 
Of life made sweet in loss and care, 

Of light that shines to those who mourn. 
And all the wondrous lore of prayer. 

Precious is every word that shows 

How faith, though tried, may conquer still, 

That breathes the blessedness of those 
Who meekly do the Master's will. 

Speak, only speak, of what has been 
Thy stay and staff in life's long need. 

And thou shalt cheer the hearts of men. 
Though now they ache and faint and 
bleed. 



EASTER EVEN. 

O WOEFUL day ! but there is day no more — 
The horrid deed of darkness has been done : 

Can aught to earth the light of love restore ? 
It is not light, though shines the noonday 
sun. 

O murdered Master ! Cold sepulchral stone ! 

O sky of ashes that is more than gloom ! 
Closed is the grave : earth and the grave are 
one, 

And all my heart is hollowed to a tomb. 

Why could they not their spiteful hate forego ? 

He was so beautiful, so good, so grand : 
O agony ! to see the red drops flow 

From his fair brow and lacerated hand ; 



66 EASTER EVEN. 

To see the pallor spread, the quivering frame 
And its dark welts, gored feet and droop- 
ing head ; 

To hear Him gasp, at last, the one dear name, 
And then to know this blessed one was dead. 

Where shall I go? This is no Sabbath rest. 

Twould ease me much, I think, if I could 
fold 
Some precious balms about his cold still breast. 

As to my heart his precious Love I hold. 

This will I do at morn : His tomb is dear — 
O haste, slow morn ! I cannot bear my 
pain — 

But list ! His once mysterious words I hear : 
*' On the third day, and I shall rise again." 

Sweet ray of hope I O glimmer in the dark ! 
Prophetic voice that meets the soul's deep 
cries. 
Will the light grow from this faint, flickering 

spark? 
Will blessed life from cruel death arise? 



EASTER. 

Sing, heart ! I have met Him 

All radiant, victorious ! 
I have met Him and heard Him — 

The conqueror glorious ! 
I have seen Him and touched Him 

He has broken the prison : 
It is life, It is light, — 

The Christ has arisen. 

O the light after night, 

O the peace after pain, 
O my Lord, my delight, 

Forever to reign ! 
Dear faces are dea/er, 

O how sweet is the sun ! 
Death loses its terror. 

In the life He has won. 



68 EASTER. 

In my heart He has risen : 

the rapture divine ! 

I am His by His triumph, 
In His love, He is mine. 

I am risen, I'm born 

In the love that renews : 
This is life's perfect morn, 

1 am bathed in its dews. 
Vain fears that oppressed me. 

In yesterday's gloom. 
Ye cannot molest me. 

With heart all abloom. 
What is death? What its sting? 

The tyrant is slain : 
Life is victor and king. 

It is Life that shall reign. 



THE PHONOGRAPH'S SALUTATION. 

I SEIZE the palpitating air. I hoard 

Music and speech. All lips that speak are 
mine. 

I speak, and the inviolable word 
Authenticates its origin and sign. 

I am a tomb, a paradise, a throne, 

An angel, prophet, slave, immortal friend : 

My living records in their native tone 
Convict the knave and disputations end. 

In me are souls embalmed. I am an ear 
Flawless as Truth ; and Truth's own tongue 
am I. 
I am a resurrection, and men hear 

The quick and dead converse, as I reply. 
69 



^0 THE PHONOGRAPH'S SALUTATION. 

Hail, English shores and homes and marts of 
peace ! 
Well were your trophies through the ages 
won. 
May " sweetness," " light" and brotherhood 
increase ! 
I am the youngest born of Edison. 



LILIES. 

O THE lilies ! I've found lilies ! they star the 

lovely meadow — 
Glorious, great lilies, flakes of light in seas of 

verdure ! 
Wings of gold and ranks of splendor ! stately, 

musing, queenly lilies ! 
Thoughts of angels writ in petals of velvet 

gleaming bloom ! 
And the birds are singing o'er them in deli- 
cious summer rapture. 
And lustrous sunshine bathes them from the 

delicate blue sky. 
O royal vestured lilies ! with the gentle Christ 

amongst you. 
The dear and perfect Christ amongst you tall 

and fair. 

71 



72 LILIES. 

Yes, the Lord has touched, caressed you, and 

breathed your spicy odors. 
And His face is toward your beauty with a 

love that makes you glad. 
How the birds sing ! How the dew gleams ! 

how the soft wind wafts the perfumes 
With the faint, low music floating up the 

clover-scented vale ! 
O the calm and glow of morning, with the 

lilies all a-blossom. 
And the Master musing in their midst with 

sweet, unruffled brow ! 
And companies of people pause beside the 

lilied meadow — 
Stern men and little children, eager youths 

and meek-eyed maidens — 
And the Christ among the lilies tells of their 

trustful growing. 
Of the love that makes them lovely, and a 

Father's tender care. 
And some scowl and hurry onward, some 

smile in deep derision. 



LILIES. 73 

Some wonder at the folly that can dally with 

a blossom. 
There are pale, pinched, pleading faces, and 

hearts that ache and languish ; 
As they listen, how hope brightens, how their 

cruel burdens fall ! 
And children kiss the lilies 'neath the halos 

that o'erspread them, 
And virgins see a vision in the bloom that is 

immortal. 
And eyes are wet with gladness as some leave 

the barren pathways. 
And enter into gardens where no blight of 

evil falls. 
O the memories, the awakenings, the solaces, 

thanksgivings. 
In the messages that whisper in the paradise 

of lilies. 
With the loving Christ among them where the 

fadeless sunlight falls ! 
O the lilies ! O my lilies ! it is love that tells 

your story — 



74 LILIES. 

Love that fills the earth and heavens with the 
beauty you reveal. 

In your sumptuous summer sweetness I am 
bathed with your caresses. 

O my lilies ! Christ has touched you, He has 
breathed and smiled upon you, 

He stands among you pleading that the souls 
of men be like you. 

In the glory of that kingdom where His full- 
ness is for all. 



SOWING IN THE SEA. 

A HAPPY child, with playful glee, 
Was casting blossoms on the sea ; 
O'er heaving wave and flashing spray 
The fragrant navy sailed away : 
How could the thoughtless urchin know 
That in the ocean he could sow ? 

One branch the slow tides tended o'er, 

And planted on a foreign shore. 

It grew, a marvelous plant, whose leaf 

With healing virtue gave relief 

To dire disease and weary pain. 

And joy filled many hearts again. 

Thus in the world's discordant strife. 
Where come and go the waves of life, 
75 



76 SOWING IN THE SEA. 

And furious passions overflow 

The beauteous things that else might grow, 

A look of love, a tender speech, 

May some sad, aching bosom reach. 

And generous deeds and liberal hands 

May heal sick souls in distant lands. 



THE TRANSFIGURATION. 

Resplendent as the sun 

Upon the mountain height, 
Shines the Anointed One 

In raiment dazzling white. 
Spirits of Eld appear 

In converse with the Lord : 
" Good is it to be here," 

Is Peter's rapturous word. 
And then a glowing cloud 

Wraps awful splendors round. 
And messages aloud 

From its effulgence sound. 
O'erwhelmed with holy dread, 

The dazed apostles fall ; 
Yet what is seen and said 

Is light and life for all. 
n 



78 THE TRANSFIGURATION. 

The Vision and the Voice 
Forever beckon on : — 

Hear Him, see Him, rejoice 
In the Beloved Son. 



Keep we the Feast. In whiter robes, to-day, 
O Bride of Christ, devotion's zeal employ ; 

A brighter sheen of holiness display, 
And find in larger love illustrious joy. 

Ascend, disciple — rise in heart — arise ! 

The beauty of the King shall be revealed, 
And thou shalt read, with faith's transported 
eyes. 
Great meanings that to sluggish souls are 
sealed. 

Go up the mount. There shines in dimless 
white 

The perfect One, transcendent, all-adored ! 
The cloud around is an excess of light 

That flows unwasting from the living Lord. 



THE TRANSFIGURATION. 



79 



Go up, faint heart. The sky is clear above ; 
The dark melts slowly at the mountain's 
base. 
Go up and watch the promised Day of Love 
Flashing and spreading o'er our groping 
race. 

Thou shalt see marvels — soul-births, amities, 
Balms that refresh and heal the world's wild 
strife, 

And tender trusts and gracious charities 
That make so beautiful our daily life. 

Thou shalt commune with spirit that resides 
In all that is, in earth and sky and sea. 

And feel secure, though round thee sweep the 
tides 
Of an abysmal, dark eternity. 

Go up, go up ! '' 'tis the Beloved Son ! 

Hear Him ! " cry heaven-persuading voices 
sweet. 



8o THE TRANSFIGURATION. 

O rapture ! When the glorious heights are 
won, 
Dominions, Thrones, and Powers are at His 
feet. 

Transfigured and enamored ! All who give 
Themselves for man and steeps of duty 
climb. 
And for the Truth's dear sake, die while they 
live. 
Meet with the Master on the mount sublime. 

O blessed company ! adoring throng ! 

Awe-smitten, prostrate, and yet raised to 
know 
A grander Vision, and to grow more strong 

In Him who leads in paths they love to go. 



WHITSUN-DAY. 

Love's great illumination ! O the joy in love 
and light ! 
How the glory streams and brightens ! 
How the light of love enlightens ! 
What baleful phantoms vanish with the pass- 
ing of the night ! 

Creation new-created ! O the beauty rare and 
sweet ! 
Hear the hallelujahs tender ! 
See the rapturous surrender 
Of hearts that fling the flowers of life before 
the Master's feet ! 

Tongues of fire in truth and blessing ! O 
trumpet tones and meek ! 
Swiftly speeds the message holy ; 

8i 



S2 WHITSUN-DAY. 

How it cheers the poor and lowly I 
How nations catch the tidings that exulting 
spirits speak ! 

What prophecies ! confessions ! O travelers 
lone and sad, 
Lift your weary heads and listen ! 
How the love-lit faces glisten, 
As praises break from prisons and the desert- 
ways are glad. 

Woven amaranths and lilies ! O miracle of 
white ! 
O the lives where they are growing ! 
O the loveliness they're sowing, 
As duty and devotion breathe their odors of 
delight ! 

See the kindness, the forgiving, the rescues, 
the relief; 
With what power the Word is spoken ! 
Where a heart is hurt or broken. 
What cordial for the fainting, and what pre- 
cious balm for grief! 



WHITSUN-DAY. 



83 



O the courage, knowledge, wisdom, in man's 
divine release ! 
Longing eyes no more are holden, 
All the centuries are golden. 
The cruel sheathe their weapons and earth's 
maddening discords cease. 



WINTERGREEN. 

TO J. D. 

Did you not know that many a fateful year 
Had shrunk her cheek and seamed her 
snowy brow, 

Did you not see her face, but only hear 
Her blithesome accents as I hear them now ; 

Did you but feel her charm, while unaware 
Of time's invasion, you would fain suppose 

She was a creature unassailed by care, 

And glowing yet with life's unwithered rose. 

But though, long since, she hailed her three- 
score-ten. 
The wonder is no less that she can wear 
The jewels of her loveliness, as when 

The gold of youth was gleaming in her hair, 
84 



WINTERGREEN. 85 

Children are poems to her : songs of spring 
With all the rapture of old days are heard, 

And grateful memories of her pleasures sing 
In tender chorus with the sweetest bird. 

She loves the glorious landscape spread 
around 
With the deep passion of her beauteous May ; 
Sorrows that cloud the world and wrongs that 
wound, 
Have frightened not her generous trusts 
away. 

The mourner's cup she shares, as 'twere her 

own. 

Delights in all the noblest bards have sung. 

Love's accents reach her to their faintest tone, 

And love's own music vibrates on her 

tongue. 

In all that gladdens others she is glad ; 

She gives the key to household converse 
sweet, 



S6 WINTERGREEN. 

Translates to cheerful meaning tidings sad, 
And feels in all the pulse of goodness beat. 

And so the verdure of her life remains, 

In spite of frosts that bite and winds that 
blow ; 
The heart of youth is throbbing in her veins. 
The flowers and fruitage mingle 'neath the 
snow. 



UNDERTONES. 

" Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard 
Are sweeter." — Keats. 

A LOW and witching strain — 
Far off, but strangely near : 

It dies, and wakes, and breathes again 
To my enchanted ear. 

Is it to sense alone 

The subtle sound appeals? 
A spirit in its undertone 

Another world reveals. 

Far through the trembling blue 

The mystic accents come. 
As if they told in numbers new 

The sweetest dream of home. 

^7 



S8 UNDERTONES. 

And yet from shrub and tree, 
And blossoms' dewy bell, 

And singing bird and droning bee, 
The fairy rondeaux swell. 

I cannot help but hear — 
So sweet, so pure it seems. 

Like voice of one surpassing dear 
Who breathes her love in dreams. 

Ah, it is Nature's heart 

With its own rapture stirred ! 

And blest is he whose cunning art 
Translates her loving word. 



JUNE. 

LUSCIOUS June ! O perfect Flower ! 
Pure Pearl of Summer's regal dower ! 
Soul of the Seasons ! Eden's sign ! 
Goblet of Beauty's sacred wine ! 
Music and love are born of thee — 
Essence of Nature's ecstasy ! 

Imperial June ! with laughing eyes 
From beds of bloom, I see thee rise. 

1 see the fairy forms that dress 
Thy unimagined loveliness — 

Thy scarfs of light, thy glowing zone, 
Thy locks on scented breezes blown, 
Thy airy step, caressing grace. 
Dimples and sunshine of thy face. 

And ah, by thee what tales are told 
Writ only in thy book of gold ! 
89 



90 JUNE. 

I hear the gossip in the grass, 
And love-sighs as the zephyrs pass, 
The daisy's kiss where liHes lean 
With tempting cheek and royal sheen, 
And strawberries blushing coyly tell 
How all their nectared juices swell. 
I hear what bridal roses say 
To maidens at the close of day, 
When all the witchery of the hour 
Distills its sweetness in the flower ; 
And what is told by whispering sedge 
In star-shine by the lakelet's edge. 
The thrush's converse in the woods 
About the prayerful solitudes, 
The brooklet's secret, and the tone 
Heard when the soul is most alone. 
Ah, June ! what prophecies are thine — 
Teasing, unutterable, divine ! 

I feel the Spirit that impels 

All impulse — all that works and dwells 

In mystic germ and hidden cell 



JUNE. 91 

Of life's deep, dateless miracle ; 

The living energy I feel 

That turns unmeasured Nature's wheel, — 

The Soul that breathes in life and law 

From which all truth and beauty draw 

The power to touch our finest sense 

With Love's benign omnipotence. 



LIGHT AT EVENTIDE. 

I DID not think in other days, 

Musing on life's dedine, 
Amid the dark and thorny ways 

That had so long been mine, 

That after weary years at length 

My chain would fall apart, 
And I should gather up my strength 

With uncorroded heart ; 

That here my youth would be renewed, 
My broken hearthstone rise, 

And life again grow rosy-hued 
To my confiding eyes ; 

And noble spirits flow to mine 
In friendship large and free, 
92 



LIGHT AT EVENTIDE. 93 

And all that's sweet and true and fine 
Be here reserved for me. 

How rich the portion that I share, 

Though tearfully I've sown ! 
A recompense comes unaware 

While seeking not my own. 

I ramble o'er these hills, and feel. 

As charm on charm invites. 
That none can seize my wealth, nor steal 

The spice of my delights. 

Dear eyes look into mine, and beam 

With sympathy untold, 
I verify the golden dream 

That haunted me of old. 

In God's great temple I adore 

With wonderment and awe 
The Love whose miracle is more 

Than prophet ever saw. 



94 LIGHT AT EVENTIDE. 

And the dear Christ whose sacred feet 
Guide where still water flows 

Leads me in pastures green and sweet 
To a divine repose. 

O tranquil rest ! O heart serene ! 

Contented I abide : 
However dark my day has been, 

Light crowns its eventide. 



BEHIND THE VEIL 

As I muse in the hush of evening, 

Between the day and the night, 
A veil is sometimes lifted 

That hides the common sight, 
And scenes of time and the senses 

Utterly fade away, 
And I see what I can never see 

In the glare of open day. 

There are pictures of landscapes fairer 

Than any the masters paint. 
There are mounts of splendid vision 

Ne'er reached by purest saint, 
There are trophies of grander triumph 

Than of kings of old renown. 
And the garlands the victors gather 

Are more than a triple crown. 
95 . 



96 BEHIND THE VEIL. 

I have glimpses of sweetest creatures 

On gracious service bound, 
Whose unimagined beauty 

On earth no mortal found : 
Beings whose radiant spirit 

Envelops form and face 
With a glory whose mere reflection 

Is a sacrament of grace. 

I see the heights of honor 

That no man yet has trod 
And awful gleams, like splendors 

About the feet of God ; 
I see where hands are lifted 

And brows are bathed in light 
And angels hush their music 

And stop in their eager flight. 

I see the untold marvels 
Of being's utmost reach. 

When mind has made the conquest > 
That all the ages preach ; 



BEHIND THE VEIL. 97 

The miracle and harvest 

Of life's supremest gain, 
When truth is loved for what it is 

And wrong and error slain. 

I look through glowing vistas 

Resplendent, without end. 
Where voices of all time and space 

In one great chorus blend : 
And in the vision of the good 

That is the sun of all, 
As in a boundless sea of love, 

Instinctively I fall. 



